This week, American columnist Aron Solomon argued that the Australian Open will never quite feel like a “true” Grand Slam — a thoughtful, personal take that sparked plenty of nodding heads and raised eyebrows in equal measure.
You can read his original column here:
https://tennisuptodate.com/tennis-column/column-why-the-australian-open-wont-ever-feel-like-a-true-grand-slam
It is a well-written piece, honest in tone and unapologetically subjective. But it is also deeply shaped by where — and when — it is being watched from.
From a global tennis fan’s perspective, the Australian Open’s supposed shortcomings look far less like flaws and far more like misread signals.
The “Shared Experience” Argument Is Narrower Than It Sounds
Solomon’s central complaint is emotional isolation: that the Australian Open unfolds while Europe and North America sleep, stripping it of communal electricity. But that assumes the tennis world still revolves around Atlantic time zones.
It doesn’t.
Asia-Pacific audiences, increasingly central to the sport’s growth, experience the Australian Open in prime time. China, Japan, Southeast Asia, Australia, and large parts of Eastern Europe consume Melbourne live, loudly, and together. The idea that waking up to results diminishes meaning says more about American viewing habits than about the tournament’s global relevance.
Tennis has never been a single-time-zone sport. Wimbledon finals end before breakfast in California. US Open nights run into early morning in Europe. The Australian Open simply flips the axis — and in doing so, exposes whose “shared experience” we quietly prioritize.
January Is Not an Emotional Dead Zone — It’s a Truth Serum
The argument that January lacks narrative weight misunderstands what the Australian Open actually offers. Melbourne is not about culmination. It is about revelation.
This is where off-season work shows. Where fitness gaps are exposed. Where tactical evolutions under perhaps new coaches debut without disguise. Novak Djokovic’s Melbourne dominance, Serena Williams’ repeated early-season statements, Naomi Osaka’s hard-court authority — none of these felt emotionally incomplete at the time.
If anything, the Australian Open strips tennis down to essentials. No clay excuses. No grass randomness. Just hard courts, heat, and consequence. That is not narratively thin — it is brutally honest.
Prestige Is No Longer Built on Myth Alone
Paris, London, and New York trade heavily on inherited mythology. Melbourne had to build its own — and did so in real time.
Rod Laver Arena night matches, five-set marathons in 40-degree heat, players collapsing at the net, careers bent by January pressure. The Australian Open did not inherit legend; it manufactured it. That difference is often mistaken for a lack of soul.
It gave Madison Keys the opportunity last year, and she took it with both hands — and a new racquet.
Calling Melbourne “efficient” is not an insult. It is a reflection of modern sport. Players are heard. Sometimes. Facilities matter. Innovation is embraced. Tennis is not preserved in amber. The Australian Open feels alive because it evolves. It attracts thousands.
“The Happy Slam” Is Confidence, Not Insecurity
Solomon suggests branding like “The Happy Slam” sounds defensive. But confidence today looks different than it did in 1975.
The Australian Open does not need to intimidate. It welcomes. It experiments. It listens to players. It leads on extreme heat protocols, scheduling reform, and fan access. Grand Slams once survived on mystique. The Australian Open survives — and thrives — on relevance.
In a sport often accused of clinging to the past, Melbourne is the one major that behaves like it understands the present.
The American-Centric Lens Is the Real Limitation
Ultimately, the column says as much about American sports culture as it does about the Australian Open.
In the US, sporting consequence is measured by domestic saturation and legacy narratives that echo through talk radio and morning shows. The Australian Open does not dominate that ecosystem — but tennis no longer lives inside one country’s echo chamber.
Globally, Melbourne titles matter. They shape rankings. They define seasons. They expose champions early and often. For players, winning the Australian Open is not “contained.” It is foundational.
Calling it a “minor-league Grand Slam” only works if you assume the majors are still defined by where Americans are awake.
Different, Yes. Lesser, No.
The Australian Open is different. It always has been. It sits at the edge of the calendar, the edge of geography, and increasingly at the edge of where tennis is heading.
That does not make it smaller. It makes it sharper.
If Wimbledon is tradition and Roland Garros is endurance, Melbourne is adaptation. And in a sport facing rapid change, that may prove the most enduring prestige of all.